


Lost and Found

by River_of_Dreams



Series: Dreampath [2]
Category: Bright (2017)
Genre: Because I can, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Negotiations, Nick Jakoby is a gift, and Tikka knows more than she should, but some relationships are special without becoming romantic, could be read as pre-slash, just a bit, shirtless Kandomere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23155366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/River_of_Dreams/pseuds/River_of_Dreams
Summary: Under dire circumstances, Kandomere finds help where he wouldn't expect it.Help - and a dilemma.
Relationships: Nick Jakoby & Kandomere
Series: Dreampath [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664482
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Ladies, gentlemen and everyone else, this is what you get when you inadvertently prompt me with “I really hope Kandomere takes up on his offer on tea in the near future, one day”. Diana Chmiel, thank you. :)
> 
> This fic directly follows Loose Ends.

Kindness.

He went in, interrogated and even threatened an orc, and was met with kindness.

Kandomere was still pondering that one as he sank into the seat of his deliberately nondescript rental car and pulled into traffic, which wasn’t too busy at this time of day and in this part of the city.

It was a habit by now to make sure he’s not being followed, a habit that didn’t require much of his attention, leaving him plenty of space to reflect. Regain some equilibrium, perhaps.

He’d known, of course, that Nick Jakoby was unusual.

Not from the very beginning, granted; when he first saw an orc in a uniform, he’d assumed connections rather than merit: some well-intentioned human benefactor or an elf amusing themselves with a pet project. He didn’t give it much thought until that very same orc was running around with a wand.

At that point, Kandomere had demanded a report on him, needing to know what to expect. It turned out that if anybody smoothed Jakoby’s path, they couldn’t be uncovered during an hour spent with the resources the Magic Task Force had at hand. The orc had pulled himself through his education by his own efforts, with generally mediocre results for his chosen career that nonetheless seemed to be the fruits of hard work. Astonishingly, he had no records of violent behavior since elementary school.

Reading that, even Kandomere had to admit Jakoby seems to take his duty seriously.

Wands, despite their lore and general effects, weren’t corruptive in the sense of compelling good men to do evil. Their influence was subtler: lowering inhibitions, making people take risks they otherwise wouldn’t. Making them, quite literally, drunk on their potential power. Promising them to become anything they wanted to be, and making them more likely to take the chance.

Clearly, Nick Jakoby wanted nothing more than to be a hero, so a hero he became. Respected by all, even the Fogteeth clan.

In the aftermath, Kandomere had expected him to boast, to challenge, to crave admiration, or at least show pride in his achievements.

The bout of oversharing hadn’t been surprising in itself, being one of the less usual but known side effects of the proximity of a wand. Its contents, though, did surprise. Jakoby didn’t present himself as the hero. He pushed others to the forefront, with the same adoration Kandomere had expected him to want for himself.

It had been easier to believe the orc therefore had something shameful to hide, rather than be forced to conclude Nick Jakoby simply wanted to do the right thing, whether it made him a hero or not.

Then Kandomere insinuated himself into his home – and the orc immediately reacted by trying to take care of him.

It was baffling. And humbling.

And not entirely unwelcome.

***

Kandomere wasn’t a field agent, not anymore. He never acted alone these days, never entered a situation without a contingent of agents to draw potential fire away from him.

It was therefore a rather unpleasant surprise when he found himself first abducted, then running for his life. From his own agents, no less.

Strategically speaking, it was worrying. The Inferni were fanatical, not stupid. If they decided to risk revealing their double agents, it was because they were ready to move on more fronts than himself. The only positive was that the corruption clearly didn’t reach high enough to ensure his cooperation or destruction through subtler means.

Unfortunately, he was in no position to worry about strategy at the moment.

The next shot nearly took off his ear and forced him to duck behind a dumpster. Not a good choice: its stench was so strong it momentarily took away all his other senses. Kandomere understood, though, that he’s being pushed into the orc ghetto.

It was cunning, he had to admit. Humans might help him, or call the police for him. Orcs were more likely to kill an elf themselves when given the opportunity.

Nevertheless, _they_ couldn’t delve too deep after him, either. Not without significant risk.

Kandomere crouched low and ran.

About ten minutes in, it was quite clear some of his pursuers weren’t going to be deterred. There even seemed to be more of them now: hired local help, perhaps. They had already foiled Kandomere’s plan to circle back to more civilized parts of the city, chasing him more or less in a straight line, deeper and deeper into the ghetto.

Kandomere was beginning to worry what they are pushing him towards. To which there was only one possible response: to turn and fight before the trap shuts closed. Except that he was alone, without a proper weapon, undertrained in hand-to-hand combat compared to his enemies, didn’t know the territory and, if at all possible, wanted to avoid civilian casualties.

He was also in a dead end.

The alley had seemed wide enough to lead somewhere when he ducked into it. Unfortunately, that “somewhere” turned out to be a tall rusted gate of an abandoned factory compound. Now all he had was a concrete wall at his back, too high and crowned with barbed wire. In front of him, there was a row of low, rundown houses, most of them undoubtedly inhabited to two or three times their capacity. Once, in happier times, they had been meant to have small gardens or lawns attached on this side, but there wasn’t much left of those besides packed dirt, a few stubborn weeds and the occasional shred of chain link fence. The denizens apparently used the alley between that and the factory as a dump for anything too big to fit into a dumpster, all the way from the mouth of the alley to the gate at the end. It provided some meagre cover at least, but he didn’t want to die cowering between an old fridge and a broken down sofa.

“Ssst!“

Kandomere froze, trying to discern where the sound came from and what it meant.

“Ssst! Hey!“

The door two houses closer to the mouth of the alley was cracked open now and moving a bit to catch his attention.

Kandomere’s heart began to beat again.

It could be the trap he’d suspected. It could be a cruel joke, the person on the other side slamming the door shut in his face, leaving him out in the open. It could be a cruel joke of a different kind, a gang of teenagers looking for an easy prey to beat up.

It was also the first and probably the last chance he got since he entered the ghetto.

Upon a closer look, that door was the only one accompanied by something that resembled a real vegetable garden. It was a stretch to think that the people inside were therefore law-abiding and helpful, but it was a sign as good as any.

Kandomere weighed the distance against the abilities of the shooters so far.

The cold, analytical part of his mind that sneered at foolish hopes came to the inevitable conclusion that he was almost certainly going to die. He was out of shape and already tired. The terrain between him and the dubious safety of the door was almost flat but somewhat uneven, the worst kind to cross under fire. His enemies were waiting for him.

But at least he’d die seizing a chance. If that choice was the last bit of power he had left from all he’d enjoyed just this morning, he’d take it.

There were worse ways to go.

“Ssst!“

The door swung a little bit open again, then closed. Kandomere could only hope that it would fully open for him when the time comes, in five… four…

He sprinted like never before.

He didn’t make it fancy. He was no acrobat, no movie star, and definitely not anyone’s stunt double. His best chance was to move as fast as possible, so that was what he did. He flew over the wire that remained of the fence between him and the sad attempt at a garden, bullets whistling dangerously close, and stumbled in the soft soil of a flower bed behind it, pain shooting up his leg, nearly enough to send him down.

The door opened wide and he caught his balance just enough to set off into a graceless jump, something whipping across his back as he fell.

He landed hard, sliding several feet over linoleum floor before he came to a stop, his shoulder and entire side on fire.

“Away from the windows!“ he barked through the red haze of pain. “Lock that door! Call the police! Now!“

Nothing happened. Nothing whatsoever, except a heatwave of pain that kept him blind.

Then came a somewhat amused rumble of a voice.

“It’s okay. The police is here, but I think my boys will be better at this. Not our first shootout.“

Cold dread blotted out the pain.

Amused was bad. Amused meant someone used to violence.

Amused meant somebody enjoying it.

Kandomere blinked away the tears that somehow made it into his eyes, wanting to – needing to – see clearly. There were more voices – in the next room? – and the clack of a lock finally engaged. There also was a huge orc pressed against the wall at the window, peering out through the gap between the wall and a faded roller curtain with a gun in his hands, and a much younger orc at the door, staring at him with his mouth open. The group in the next room sounded like a mix of adults and children, none of them particularly alarmed or upset except one, carrying on an argument about calling the police.

Another orc, crouching low as to not present too much of a target, blocked out the faint sunlight streaming in from the other room, and paused there in apparent astonishment.

“Agent Kandomere?“

That was when Kandomere recognized both of the adults: Officer Nick Jakoby, in civilian clothes and with no visible weapon, and Dorghu, the infamous leader of the Fogteeth Clan.

The picture was fundamentally wrong, but seemed to be real.

“What are you doing here?“ Kandomere gasped.

Jakoby shrugged his wide shoulders, the picture of earnestness as if he hadn’t just been discovered by a federal agent in about the worst company a police officer could be found.

“Mikey here has an essay on the civil rights movement due tomorrow and asked me for help. I brought Daryl, too. You remember Daryl? Officer Ward, the one that-“ A pause, some vague motion of his hand. “From that night with the wand. That never happened, of course. Unequivocally. That Ward.“

As if it was normal. As if helping gangsters’ children with homework was part of the job.

“You know more about it than he does, anyway,“ the young orc piped in, somewhat sullen.

“I find it very inspirational,“ Jakoby replied, perfectly straightfaced.

“We’ll make our own, our own way,“ Dorghu promised. Given who he was, what his power over the neighborhood was, it sounded ominous.

Kandomere gathered himself from the floor, or began to: something still burned across his back, his left shoulder was either badly bruised or dislocated and his hip wasn’t much better. His right ankle provided a counterpoint of a duller ache, possibly twisted. He was lucky he didn’t break his neck in the fall.

He gave up on pushing himself to stand when Dorghu addressed him.

“So you’re what, a Fed?“

“Magic Task Force,“ he admitted, hoping the Clan leader wasn’t going to shoot him in front of a police officer. A police officer who had stopped hovering in the doorway and crouched by him, eyeing him with obvious worry.

“Huh. And in how much trouble are my boys going to be if they shoot at those guys outside?”

Kandomere grimaced, which made him flinch and bring the back of his hand to his swollen jaw. That one at least wasn’t a testament to his gracelessness.

“I don’t know. Some of them are highly trained, but I think they’ve recruited help. There’s more of them now than there were when I first escaped them.“

“The Inferni?“ Jakoby asked.

“If there were any actual Inferni involved in the hunt so far, I would be dead or recaptured already,” Kandomere snapped, pain making him impatient. “But they might be around. Tell your men to be careful.“

Dorghu looked amused again.

“I meant legal trouble, Agent.“

Of course he did.

Kandomere weighed the situation and came to a surprising realization: perhaps he did have some power left after all, even here.

“There’s a lot I can make go away when it comes to my protection,“ he promised darkly.

“Nick!“ interrupted a plaintive voice from the other room. Officer Ward, most probably. “Say something, man! We can’t have people shooting around here and not to call it in!“

“It looks like a- special situation?“ Jakoby ventured.

“What kind of- Oh.“

Kandomere used the silence that followed to gain more control of his breathing and his pain levels, with moderate success. There was the sound of several gunshots outside. Close, but not so close as to mark an immediate threat of somebody bashing the door in.

Dorghu picked up a cellphone and called someone, his other hand still on the gun, and told them something in orcish, in a dialect too distinct for Kandomere’s basic familiarity with the language. Shortly after that, the fire intensified – and didn’t move closer.

“Agent Kandomere,“ Jakoby drew his attention back to himself. “You need to go to a hospital.“

Kandomere nearly sighed in longing when those words called forth phantoms of plentiful rest, professional care, safety, and analgesics. As tempting as the prospect was, he forced himself to shake his head. Only minutely, careful not to make any sudden movement that would make him regret the decision even more.

“I’m not dying. Everything else can wait.“

“You are in a lot of pain. You might go into shock.“

There was no question in his voice, no uncertainty-

Of course. The scent blocker must have worn off hours ago.

Jakoby’s yellow gaze was full of honest worry. Kandomere met it with as much calm authority as he could muster while half-crumpled on somebody’s kitchen floor.

“Am I going into shock?“

It was as clear an invitation as Kandomere was willing to extend to anyone. In spite of it, Jakoby didn’t lean in. If Kandomere wasn’t expecting it, he wouldn’t have noticed the subtle widening of his nostrils as he sniffed, then reluctantly subsided.

“No.”

“Thank you. Officer Ward, by all means, call the police, but do get your stories straight this time. I believe you about the essay. Nobody else will.“

“Leave it up to us,“ Dorghu offered lazily, eyes on the outside but not shooting anything yet. “Nobody will think twice about my boys chasing off some trespassers on Clan territory. Even if somebody wanted to, Agent here will make sure they don’t, so long as he stays alive. Right, Agent?“

Kandomere waited for him to glance his way, then nodded.

Dorghu huffed, unamused by that little game.

“So, if he’s not dying, wait till everything calms down, then get him to safety.“ His lower lip drew down, making a show of his tusks in apparent derision. “Be the heroes you’ve always wanted to be.“

This was the orc who had blooded Jakoby, Kandomere reminded himself. Who then invited him into his own home, to help his son with his homework. Young Mikey didn’t seem slated to drop off high school if his father had a say in it, and the derision, if it was anything more than for show, wasn’t bone-deep.

It was strange to find hope in it. A hundred years ago he wouldn’t have noticed, or cared.

A hundred years ago he had had very different hopes.

“I never wanted to be a hero,“ Ward protested.

“I did,“ Jakoby said. “But not by taking credit I don’t deserve.“

“All I ever wanted,“ Ward continued over him, complaining to an uninterested audience, “was to do my job, do my years, and retire.“

Yet here he was, in the orbit of a colleague as idealistic as one could imagine.

“I sure as hell don’t want any Fed attention on my family,“ Dorghu growled.

“Noted,“ Kandomere said before the debate could get out of hand.

Dorghu eyed him – briefly, before he returned to watching the outside.

“Go get cleaned up, Agent. Keep your head down. Mikey can lend you a shirt after that. It might just about fit you.“

Kandomere stilled, thrown by the offer. And its implications. Partly the picture he would present, but it was immediately clear to him that should be the least of his worries.

“Unless you’d rather run around half naked than wear something of ours?“ Dorghu added, confirming the test.

There was only one possible answer.

“No, of course not. Thank you for the kind offer. If you don’t mind?“ he turned directly to Mikey, who shrugged, although he looked just as taken aback and uncomfortable with the situation as Kandomere was. At least Kandomere could depend on his well-honed professional facade to hide it. His self-control and his distance from everybody but Jakoby had to be enough for his scent not to betray him.

“Go fetch something,“ Dorghu sent his son. “Ask the momma if she needs anything while you’re at it.“

Mikey unpeeled himself from the door, shoulders hunched.

“Okay.“

As the young orc ambled towards him, Kandomere contemplated getting off the ground. Before he even fully shifted his weight, he found himself supported from his less injured right side by a pair of strong, careful hands.

As if lifting other people up was Jakoby’s nature, as easy as breathing.

He didn’t fuss and let go of him once it was clear Kandomere can hobble safely on his own, so the assistance was over before Kandomere could grow uncomfortable with it. Perhaps that was another of Jakoby’s many subtle gifts.

Ward, possibly for the lack of more interesting options, trailed after them.

The other room was the living room, the space shabby and hopelessly cluttered with toys and other odds and ends, but mostly clean. The other children were nowhere to be seen, but by one of the windows stood a stout orcish woman, also armed and alert and careful not to provide too much of a target.

“Mom? The elf needs cleaning up. I can take over here.“

Mikey’s attempt at machismo failed on an uncertain note in his voice, and on his mother’s immovable form.

“You know where the kit is.“

“I’ll fetch it for you..?“

“We’re trained in first aid,“ Jakoby offered, and Mikey stopped looking as if he wanted to stand in the middle of the room forever.

“Good.“

It was an assessment Kandomere agreed with wholeheartedly. He didn’t want the boy anywhere near his wounds, superficial as most of them were. The young orc might have saved his life, but his attempts at playing tough didn’t promise a gentle or thorough nurse.

The mother glanced their way and snorted.

“Hardly needs first aid, Nick. My kids bring home worse scrapes.“

Kandomere held back the remark that it told more about her parenting style than the seriousness of his injuries.

Mikey moved to another door, much more willingly now that the threat to his self-image passed. Kandomere heard him talking to the other children, then the distinct sound of a bathroom cabinet opening. So that was where the children were hiding: in a room without windows.

As long as the adults expected to successfully defend their home, it was the most sensible choice.

The gunshots had faded into the distance already. Rationally, it was almost certainly a good sign, but Kandomere couldn’t help but read the tension they left behind as the quiet before the storm.

Mikey returned with the – quite heavy – first aid kit, handed it to Jakoby before the adult could change his mind, mumbled something about getting the shirt and vanished again.

Kandomere gingerly sat down on a sofa that wasn’t in a much better condition than the one he had been crouching by in the alley outside, though this one was without rain damage. The few faded, long-since futitely scrubbed stains he saw he decided not to examine too closely.

“Your back first,“ Nick directed him at a low rumble.

Kandomere cringed inwardly at the thought of changing positions, crippled as he was. Perhaps some of his apprehension slipped his control, because Jakoby aborted his move to put the kit on the coffee table and rounded the sofa instead. The kit he balanced precariously on the upper edge of the backrest and leaned forward to examine Kandomere’s back, for now without touching him.

“That was close,“ he pronounced his eventual judgment as if Kandomere didn’t already know and opened a bottle of something that smelled of herbs and industrial-strength alcohol. “You should probably have it looked at after. It’s just a graze and mostly cauterized, but it needs cleaning up anyway. Let me just-“

Kandomere did flinch this time, living fire sinking into his unprotected flesh with Jakoby’s careful dabs.

“You use this on children?!“

The woman at the window chuckled.

“Keeps them out of trouble, for the most part.“

Kandomere didn’t point out that she’d just contradicted her earlier statement. It was enough that he’d confirmed any prejudice about wimpy elves she had.

“Better than have an infection set in,“ Jakoby added reasonably and continued dabbing, gently merciless.

Kandomere was tempted to consider it revenge for interrogating the man while he had been vulnerable with exhaustion and the influence of the wand. At least that would make the trail blazing across his back somewhat fair rather than gratuitous torture.

“What, you guys all use the no-burn stuff?“ Ward inquired. Kandomere was too busy keeping himself still to decipher his tone, but he wasn’t too happy about anyone forcing him to unclench his teeth to respond.

“We generally don’t see the value in making each other suffer.“ He retraced that statement. “Physically.“

Ward snorted and dropped the topic.

The burn faded to bearable levels and Kandomere sagged, too relieved to worry about appearances. None of the present company was going to give him grief about a breach of decorum. None of them were his subordinates, either, so there was a limit to how much authority he needed to hold.

It was strangely liberating.

“I’ll leave this open for now, let it breathe,“ Jakoby announced and circled the sofa again. Kandomere half-expected a predatory gleam in his eyes as he picked which bruise to attack next, but there was nothing but concern. And- anger?

The smell of the antiseptic was overwhelming, but aggression wasn’t easy to miss. Not with the orc looming so close, watching him so intently.

Studying the visible signs of his captors’ work on him, Kandomere realized.

So that was why Nick Jakoby had become a cop rather than a nurse, despite being such a natural caretaker. As a nurse, he wouldn’t be allowed to hunt down those who hurt his patients.

“I don’t want this anywhere near my eyes. Or my mouth,“ Kandomere said flatly.

Jakoby jerked away and the stech of rage began to dissipate, exactly as intended.

“Sure. Your shoulder looks worse, anyway. You should definitely have it looked at. It’s starting to swell. Not a good sign.“

Since he gestured with the wad of gauze he’d until now held at the mouth of the dissinfectant bottle, Kandomere’s eyes began to water.

“I landed on it earlier,“ he explained, possibly needlessly.

Jakoby hummed, studying the problem.

“I’ll ask Mikey for something that zips up. You probably don’t want to be getting into and out of a t-shirt with it.“

“That would be appreciated, yes.“

“But you don’t have much skin left in places,“ Jakoby continued. Kandomere’s gaze flitted in horror to the bottle. Luckily for him, Jakoby wasn’t done. “I think it would be better to wash it out with water. If you trust the water here.“

Kandomere would think it was another test, but Jakoby didn’t address him, he addressed Dorghu’s wife.

“For him? Boil it,“ was the laconic reply.

Jakoby obediently corked the bottle – it had an actual cork, not even plastic – and walked out, back into the kitchen.

The outside was completely quiet now. Kandomere itched to ask Dorghu to get a report from his men.

“So,“ Ward opened. “Any trouble coming out of this we should know about?“

Technically, the answer to the latter part was no. But these were the men who had fought Leilah, and the Fogteeth clan had eyes and noses where Kandomere could use them.

“Increased Inferni activity.“

“Figured that. Anything in particular?“ Ward shifted against the doorjamb. “Should I get my wife and daughter out of here?“

Kandomere frowned. It was sometimes easy to forget how interconnected humans (and orcs) were. How acutely they cared about the chosen few individuals around them, rather than a bloodline or a shared goal. It was an important lever, though; a key vulnerability the Inferni might and might not exploit.

“How long can you keep them out?“

Ward shrugged.

“There’s school. Work. We can’t afford to move yet.“

Because of course he got a medal but not a raise, and a bonus only maybe. It was a common bitterness to see, but it did complicate matters.

A better diplomat would maybe switch to reassurances at this point, but there was a reason Kandomere had chosen his field instead.

“I can’t promise you anything. They may come for you. They may come for your family. But if they really care to do so, they will find you even if you uproot your whole life to escape.“

“Just what a guy needs to hear.“

The sarcasm came from fear rather than disrespect, so Kandomere let it slide. Good advice was rare and hard to come by in these situations, though maybe he did have one.

“Stay away from Tikka. If you’re lucky, they think you’re unimportant and are hunting only her.“

Ward’s face abruptly turned stony. He wasn’t nearly as good a liar as he thought he was.

“We haven’t heard from Tikka since that night.“

Kandomere didn’t even blink. If he did, Ward could read it as interest, and that was the last thing Kandomere wanted – precisely because it was true.

“Of course you haven’t, because she’s a wanted fugitive and you would have been compelled to report any suspected sighting of her, not to mention a contact.“

“Exactly.“

It was actually nice to work with somebody who didn’t need to have everything spelled out to understand. Kandomere decided to test waters a little further.

“Theoretically, however. Any contact with her would put you and your family in danger.“

“Sure.“

So Tikka had allies. That was good to know: As long as the Inferni were busy hunting her, they were distracted.

Kandomere’s own predicament didn’t fit into that picture, though, which was more worrying than the bullet graze across his back.

Tikka’s plans remained unknown.

So did the Shield of Light’s.

Kandomere dropped Ward’s gaze, following the trail of thought.

The Shield of Light was more fragmented than the Inferni – or had been, sixty years ago when the MTF last successfully infiltrated an operative into the cult – which made individual cells highly unpredictable and utterly unreliable as allies, unofficial as they would have to be. Selig’s cell, which had mostly kept to itself, was nearly wiped out during the altercation around the wand, as was Leilah’s coven. In all likelihood, a new one of each moved into the vacated space, their methods uknown.

Kandomere stilled.

He had no proof it was the Inferni who were behind his current predicament. He had been led to believe so, of course, but the whole situation made little sense from that perspective. It was too erratic, as was his operatives’s sudden incompetence that had allowed him to escape.

A hefty mug of steaming tea was placed on the coffee table in front of him, breaking his concentration.

“The water for washing is cooling,“ Jakoby explained.

“Thank you.“ The courtesy came on autopilot, unwelcome thoughts pushing into his mind like secret police banging on the door somewhere nearly out of earshot but too close for comfort.

He wished he didn’t remember how that feels.

“It’s sage,“ Jakoby supplied. “It helps against infection. Just in case.“

Kandomere nodded absently, wondering if he could smell Tikka on the orc if he got close enough. He’d known Leilah’s modus operandi, but Tikka was a more recent player. She wasn’t above requesting or accepting help, obviously, but was she so callous as to outright live with Jakoby, putting him in immediate danger?

If so, then she wouldn’t be above using him as a pawn against somebody she considered an enemy, either. Had she met with Selig after that badly managed interrogation? It was likely. What were the conclusions she drew from it?

Kandomere made a mental note to bump her capture’s priority upwards.

Unless.

Tikka had successfully evaded the authorities so far. It wasn’t going to get any easier with Kandomere’s freshly understaffed department, the political fallout of the abduction notwithstanding. But if her reasons for breaking away from the Inferni weren’t idealistic, she at least went to great lenghts to pretend so, showing considerable restraint and reluctance to kill even if it put her at a disadvantage. It did open another option, now that he was in the company of people who perhaps didn’t know her exact whereabouts, but could pass a word along all the same.

“Theoretically,“ he started slowly, finding Ward’s gaze again, “there is a lot that can be forgiven, or at least temporarily forgone, for a good enough reason. Personally, I consider the Inferni a superior threat. One that would justify a peaceful exchange of information even with a fugitive.”

Jakoby perked up.

“You want to meet with Tikka?“

Ward took on a familiar expression. The same he wore during their first encounter in the hospital.

“Theoretically,“ Kandomere repeated.

“Theoretically,“ Ward emphasized, boring holes into his partner.

The orcish woman snorted.

“You want the girl to trust you and meet with you but you can’t even say it openly? I hope she has the sense to refuse you.“

Kandomere took her in with renewed interest. He hadn’t realized Tikka’s net of allies could be wider than expected. How close were the ties between Jakoby and the Fogteeth clan? Very close, tradition demanded, but Jakoby wasn’t a very traditional orc. Yet here he was, obviously a friend to the family. Kandomere had assumed Jakoby’s looser relationship with tradition meant a looser relationship with the clan that had blooded him, but perhaps it was the other way around. Perhaps it gave him the ability to bring non-orcs in, rather than keep himself out.

The thought was outlandish, but it was supported by Ward’s presence here.

The earthy fragrance of the tea slowly pushed out the smell of the disinfectant as if to create a space for thought. For that, Kandomere was grateful, but he didn’t reach for the mug, tempting as it was.

“Is there anything besides sage in it?“

Jakoby blinked, then cringed.

“Oh. Sorry. No, there’s nothing else. I’m sorry, I forgot again. I can take it away.“

“No.“

It wasn’t even politeness, it was instinct. The tea was _his_ , or at least its scent was. That had nothing to do with any possible side effects, and everything to do with being an appreciated gift.

“I don’t want you to think-“

“Officer Jakoby.“ The tone, gentle but firm, worked wonders; Jakoby stopped with his mouth hanging open. “I’m not accusing you of trying to harm me. I’ve checked because I’d rather not take analgesics I don’t know.“

Jakoby’s expression turned decidedly guilty at that, and his second “oh” was quieter. Still, after a moment’s consideration, he shook his head.

“No. It’s just sage. I thought about it, but, different biology. And I wasn’t sure they didn’t give you anything. Not to mention it would be just. Unfair.“

“Also illegal,“ Kandomere pointed out, letting out a trace of a smile.

Jakoby shrugged with the ease of somebody so thoroughly grounded in their own sense of right and wrong that they don’t need laws to know how to be a decent person. It should have been worrying in a police officer, but Kandomere realized that between Jakoby and some of the laws he knew, he’d rather trust Jakoby, too.

The mug, when he lifted it, was almost too heavy for one hand, but Kandomere’s shoulder protested when he tried to reach for it with both. It was also too hot to cradle against bare skin. Kandomere took a few careful sips, weighed his options, then rested the mug on his clothed thigh. Like a bum, but he doubted present company noticed and it made the steam fan around him in a cloud of pure relaxation.

“Interesting. Wouldn’t expect you to trust him sooner than I did. But he truly is special, isn’t he?“

Kandomere’s whole body seized. The voice was female, speaking in Övüsi.

Then he recognized Tikka.

She lost some of the hunted look from the photograph, though she still had that deceptively fragile air about her. Mostly, though, she seemed to be comfortable here, with Mikey slouching so close behind her he was nearly breathing down her neck.

“Tikka!“ Jakoby admonished. “You shouldn’t come out like this!“

Kandomere hadn’t sensed her at all. Even now, though he knew to sift through the lingering smells of the tea and the disinfectant and the more subtle scents of an orcish home, he couldn’t catch a whiff of her – or of any of the more common blockers.

The touch of a smile about her lips meant she’d noticed his fruitless indrawn breath.

“You wanted to see me,“ she prompted. In English, undoubtedly for the benefit of her hosts.

This was too many coincidences.

“You planned this.“

“I didn’t.“

He put the tea back on the table. She grew warier, but luckily for her, not less talkative.

“We caught wind of the abduction. We couldn’t stop it, but we could change it a little. Give you a chance.“

“We. The Shield of Light.“

She didn’t grace him with a reply, just watched him.

“Why did they abduct me? Why did you interfere?“

She shifted in place.

“You are a lynchpin.“

He tilted his head, waiting for more. Refusing to be shaken by a single word from her, however she arrived at it.

“Dreams bend around you. Some may end with you. Some you may allow to flow.“

He could feel goosebumps rise along his forearms.

“You are a seer?“

“Yes.“

He wanted to swallow. He didn’t. If anybody was equipped to deal with a Bright and a seer, it was supposed to be him.

“What is your dream now?“ he demanded.

He expected her to smile again, reveling in the effect her claimed talent was bound to have on any elf, whether he let it show or not. Instead, she seemed to grow more serious.

“I’m still looking for one I like. What is yours?“

“I’m not a mystic.“

“You have power.“ She shifted, then moved. Stole closer, one unhurried step at a time, drawing nearer on a lazy curve. It was perhaps meant to be predatory. It came out as unnecessary theatrics, although the conviction seemed real. And realistic, maybe. “The Shield of Light are idealists. They will make their stand. Without help, they will fail. What is your dream?“

“I want to end the Inferni.“

“That’s not enough.“

“Enough to what?“

“Enough to stop him.“

“The Dark Lord,“ Jakoby supplied helpfully.

Kandomere lifeted a purposefully sardonic eyebrow at Tikka.

“Is this where you tell me he will come back if I don’t help you?“

She stopped across the table from him, next to Jakoby. She looked tiny like a twig next to the orc’s mass, but it didn’t lessen her eerie confidence.

“Maybe. You aren’t the only lynchpin. If you remain neutral, avoid any of the traps the Inferni will set for you to turn you their way, the rest of us will have to sacrifice more, but we can stop him without you. If you die, we can stop him. If you start working with the Inferni, knowingly or not, we will almost certainly fail.“

He stared at her in wonder.

“Are you threatening me?“

Her teeth showed in an unexpected, impish little smile.

“Of course not. Nick wouldn’t like me anymore if I did. And I need him more than I need you.“

As much as that statement was designed to be ambiguous, she couldn’t truly hide the warmth of it. Or the way she utterly failed to guard her side against Jakoby, trusting him to stand by her, maybe even protect her.

Kandomere wasn’t surprised, not really. Not by the trust. Not by the importance she gave the orc.

“You wanted to talk,“ she prompted after a moment.

“You think it will be decided in our generation. No – in their generation. In a couple of decades, at most,“ he concluded.

She snorted.

“It will never be decided. Not even if he comes.“

“There will be an attempt, then. One that has a chance to succeed.“

There, she nodded, back to all seriousness.

“When was the last one?“ he checked.

“Three hundred years ago.“

Before his lifetime, then. That made the attempts rare enough, gave weight to the junction of current times. He didn’t know how to feel about it, so he chose to move onto more pressing matters.

“Give me details. About the upcoming one. Who will do it? Where are the wands?“

“What is your dream?“ she repeated.

He had none. He did his job, he did it well. He let it become his passion. It had been enough for those twenty years he’d hunted Leilah. Then she died, and he had nothing to do with it, rushing after events that unfolded too fast instead of guiding them as he wanted. The hunt was taken away from him, and he had nothing until he could find a new one.

It would have been a truth to tell Tikka.

It would have been an incomplete truth. One that disregarded the pull he felt ever since that first proper conversation with Jakoby. The hope that niggled at him when he saw the people in this house, the outcasts, the undesirables, working together to create a better future.

“I’m between dreams, just like you,“ he said at last.

Her shoulders hitched up and down, fragile like a child’s.

“Then ask again when you know. Or when you’re willing to say.“

Kandomere weighed his options.

Normally, he had little patience for contrariness, and he didn’t hesitate to threaten, even use force if necessary, to get the answers he wanted. It was a fact of life that he and his agency were better suited than most to deal with any threats civilians thought to keep to themselves, and sometimes they had to be convinced to give their secrets up.

Tikka was a seer, though. Or so she claimed, but he was inclined to believe her. It was the missing piece: Leilah wouldn’t have hunted a regular deserter so vigorously, not even a Bright. Kandomere had thought Tikka must have done something worse than just left, but it made equal sense that she was too valuable to let go easily.

If she spoke the truth, it made her better armed than he was for avoiding the future the Inferni wanted, as long as he could trust her goals.

It was an unusual and highly unpleasant position to be in.

“You didn’t tell him yours, either,“ Jakoby pointed out. “That’s hardly fair.“

She looked up at him.

“I told him I’m searching for one. I see a few that are possible, I just don’t like them enough to call them mine. He has the power to open better ones.“

So she was willing to explain, just not to him.

“As you said,“ Kandomere drew her attention back to himself. “I’m not an idealist.“

“You used to be.“

His mouth twisted, as much as he allowed it to.

“Not the kind of idealist fit for present company.“

She considered him. Then she leaned forward. And then she crawled onto the table.

Kandomere blinked, badly startled, but he refused to lean back, not least of all because he didn’t want to jostle his injuries. She stopped nearly nose to nose with him, a gesture unforgivably impolite between strangers.

He should have declined the offer. Avert his face, breathe through his mouth, tell her sharply to move back.

He drew in her scent.

She smelled clean, and also of orc. Not Jakoby. The Dorghu family. She hadn’t masked her presence by using a blocker or a spell he didn’t know of; she’d taken a shower, used the same soap the family did, and while at least some of her clothes must have been hers, not Mikey’s or some uknown sibling’s, they had been laundered and dried together with theirs at least a few times. She smelled like a natural part of the home. Masking herself with other scents like any predator.

It didn’t work this close.

She was tense, but that could be expected. Not entirely healthy, maybe: running herself ragged and eating too much grain, because grain was cheap and it was what her new tribe ate. Nevertheless, she was clean: what magic he could taste in the air around her, it brought to mind freedom and sunlight and growing things. Not something she could use in her favor in the court of law, of course. He knew for a fact she was unlicensed, but she had none of that faintly sick, bound, gangrenous feel of a Bright neglecting their gift. She was using her magic freely, forfeiting her freedom, if not her life, if she ever got caught by someone like him.

There was no animosity, though. And it was next to impossible to discern hope by smell, but lies did often have a taste, sour with sweat.

There was none of it about her. At the very least, she believed what she was telling him.

“The way I see it,“ Ward spoke, unexpectedly, “They are already hunting you. You can wait for them to catch you, or you can do something about it.“

“You need a pack,“ Jakoby added.

Kandomere nearly smiled at him.

“Most of your pack operates outside the law. Officer Jakoby.“

“Will you let that stop you?“ Tikka asked, seeming genuinely curious.

“The job is to protect people. Whatever it takes.“ Ward looked like he didn’t want to be here for the proclamation coming out of his own mouth, but when others stayed silent, he set his shoulders and bore the weight.

Kandomere should have felt disdain, or perhaps amusement. Instead, he felt tired, and rundown like a derelict building next to their shining convinction.

“It’s disputable whether that is my job. Or yours.“

“They proved themselves,“ Mikey spoke up, even more unexpectedly than Ward. “You didn’t. So, yeah. It’s ours. And you owe me one.“

Tikka perked up, her eyes on him intent and knowing.

Kandomere eyed the rash youth, whose posturing and anger was so much more typical of his race than Jakoby’s gentleness.

“By my blood, that I do,“ he answered, and felt the acceptance settle against his skin. “I have also been trained not to let the old traditions rule me, because I wouldn’t be a very reliable agent otherwise.“

Mikey looked like he wanted to spit on him.

“I guess you can afford that, elf,“ Mikey’s mother said. “You can have everything you want, why let anything like honor hold you back?“

“Hey, now that’s hardly fair,“ Jakoby soothed.

“Why not? I know you don’t care for the old ways all that much, but for us it’s all we have.“

“Easy, Mama Bear,“ Dorghu joined in, unmistakably affectionate. “The boy maybe doesn’t see things the same we do, but he’d proven himself in spades.“

Kandomere looked at him, sharp.

“The threat?“

“Gone, Agent,“ Dorghu told him with a hint of benevolent amusement.

“The Inferni?”

“Didn’t show up. The only elf far and wide is you.“

That took Kandomere slightly aback. He glanced at Tikka, who looked surprised and uncertain. And maybe somewhat bashful.

“And young Tikka,“ Dorghu added, too late.

Allegedly, glamours had existed once, changing the perception of whoever wore them. A far simpler explanation, however, was that Dorghu forgot to count her among elves because elves in his mind were stand-offish, prideful, hateful creatures he would never invite to stay under his roof.

“Either way, Agent,” Dorghu continued, studiously ignoring the way Tikka grinned at him, “you are free to leave. Go to your fancy hospital, or whatever. Or stay. And plan with us.”

Kandomere didn’t belong here, among these people. He was older than all of them and much less indignant about various life’s injusticies. Indeed, he was part of those injusticies sometimes, yet he slept soundly whenever the hunt let him sleep at night. He still wore a creed he didn’t believe in anymore, simply because it helped his career along. He was practical to a fault, the kind of man who could find his place of power under any regime.

Unless he didn’t want to.

Because one side had made him tea, and the other would make millions die.

He wasn’t naïve. Much of this encounter had been calculated, he acknowledged that. Tikka had known, and whether it had been a plan all of them devised, or one she manipulated them into, she made sure they save him when he’s in distress, vulnerable and presumably grateful. It was nearly perfect.

Then she went and admitted all of it, ruining most of the effect. She gave him back control before he thought to regain it.

And Jakoby had made him tea.

It could have been manipulation, too, if Kandomere didn’t know that Jakoby acted the same way even at his lowest point and without preparation. Exhausted, only half coherent, all his inhibitions lowered by the exposure to the wand, his first instinct still had been to feed his visitor, unwelcome and regrettably rude as he was. Back then, Jakoby had nothing to gain, couldn’t expect to get into Kandomere’s good graces by offering his modest hospitality, and was so worn that he seemed incapable of calculating two and two, much less throwing together a plan to pull a Federal agent into his group of co-conspirators.

And yet, he had been kind.

Even if Kandomere was mostly indifferent about Tikka, he wanted Jakoby to have the chance to change the world.

Jakoby wasn’t a great leader. He was awkward, he talked too much, even now as Kandomere watched him, he opened and closed his mouth as if he wanted to say something but was too afraid to make a misstep.

But he was true to the core, and more noble than Kandomere would have thought possible in an orc mere months ago.

More noble than any living elf he knew, if he was being honest.

“I’m with you,“ Kandomere told him.

The words were too plain for an oath, but they settled into him just like the warmth of the tea settled into his palms.

Between them, the dream took shape and became a path.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments most welcome. Constructive criticism doubly so. Even destructive criticism would be weighed thoroughly and not cause any hard feelings, promise. :)
> 
> Above all, hope you enjoyed!


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